Tathawen and Berion
by Rykan
Summary: Actually based on The Silmarillion. Short fic about an Elf called Tathawen and how she meets her love Berion.


Tathawen was of the Laiquendi, the Green Elves, not of the Exiled; she lived in West Beleriand, for she loved the trees. The willows were dearest to her, though willow's can be cruel. She walked through forests under starlit skies, taming the wrath of the old willows, who hated all those that walked abroad. Although her kin lived with King Thingol in Beleriand, little did she dwell there for long. She preferred to wander the lands, searching for hidden glades and valleys, and to sleep beneath the tree's she so loved. Unique among the Laiquendi was she, for she loved to sing, particularly at night, with the love of the stars in her heart. She was always clad in pale greens and yellows, she smelt like vanilla on a warm summers breeze, her eyes were blue and grey, as if the light of many stars were reflected in them, and her face was so fair that she almost resemble Varda of the Valar.  
  
One day, in early May, which is called Lótessë in the ancient tongue of Quenya, Tathawen was wondering abroad, and she had indeed traveled far; she had been walking for the past weeks, marveling at the blooming of spring, and not realizing the time, for Elves are immortal. She had wondered so far that she had come through the Forest of Brethil and continued onto Ered Gorgoroth, though she was not afraid. Ered Gorgoroth is a perilous place, for both Elves and Men, but at this time, the mountains were clad with green grass around their feet, and small blue flowers were blooming. Tathawen loved flowers almost as much as trees, and so she climbed up to the knees of Ered Gorgoroth. Here she sat for a long while, sitting among the blue flowers and smelling their beautiful scent. She sang a song of the flowers, and all those with means to hear harkened to her voice. But soon Tathawen grew restless. Tathawen wished to feel the wind through her hair, and gaze about the land of  
Doriath. So she resolved to climb to the peak of this mountain. She felt no weariness, and reached the peak fairly quickly. At the top was a mound of stones, about shoulder high. They were sturdy, so Tathawen sat on them. The wind howled round her, so she sang. Her voice was carried far on the wind, and was heard by Berion.  
  
Berion was one of the first Men to come into the West with Bëor the Old who had brought them over the Blue Mountains. Whilst most of the Men to come with Bëor now lived in Estolad, Magor son of Aradan and many people had gone and dwelt in the vales of the southern slopes of Ered Wethrin (which is not far from Gorgoroth). Berion had been among those to come to Ered Wethrin, but of late he also had taken to wandering in Tol Sirion and further east in the Pass of Anach.  
  
That day, Berion was walking through the Pass of Anach, with no purpose but to let his spirit wander, when the wind came rushing through the pass, bearing the voice of Tathawen. Berion did not understand the language of the Eldar, but the song instantly carried him off to glades full of willows and flowers. All too quickly, the wind died down, and Berion heard no longer the fair voice of Tathawen, and he was sad. But not knowing the source of the voice, he let it be, and let his spirit wander.  
  
Anar reached noon, and began to make her decent to the west. Tathawen rose, and stood in the wind, cherishing it ever the more. She began to walk down the other side of the mountain. It was steeper than the other side, and there were many hidden valleys. Tathawen came to a particularly steep slope. She edged down side ways, for though she was light of foot, it still proved a challenge. She began to speed up. She could not control her feet, she was running without control, and then she tripped and fell. She shrieked, and the wind caught her voice. She rolled down, down, becoming terribly scratched, until she reached a cliff top. She still had enough wits about her to clasp onto a clump of weeds and grass at the top. The cliff face below her had no foot holds and there was hardly anything to pull herself up by. She shrieked again, and the wind carried her voice down through the pass.  
  
Berion heard the shriek and recognised it as the fair voice that had been singing. He loved the voice, but distress was in his heart to hear the voice in such peril. He felt he must get to the owner of the voice of forever regret it. He followed the wind up the side of the mountain and around. The wind constantly blew in his face, leading him to the source of the voice. He pushed on with all haste until the way got narrower and narrower. He suddenly came round a corner to wear there had been a landslide, creating a slope. On the very edge was Tathawen, but he not it was the singer yet. Great fear was in his heart, for Tathawen was loosing her grip, and the ground beneath his feet was perilous and unstable.  
  
Tathawen was of stout heart, but being in such peril, she cried to him in her tongue "Tua amin! Tua amin!" Which means `Help me!'. Berion saw her distress, and walked forward cautiously. He found the steadier ground, and hurried as quickly as he could. The clump of weeds Tathawen was holding onto began to come loose, for the roots of the weeds did not reach far into the soil. Berion edged closer and closer to Tathawen, earth and soil slipping from beneath his feet and rolling off the precipice to fall many thousands of feet. He came level to Tathawen, crouched down and grabbed her wrists. She grabbed his back in turn. Berion hauled her up, and she scrabbled up the cliff face as best she could. She slag around them began to slip under the increased weight of two people combined. They walked back as cautiously as they could, but the slag was moving faster. They increased their speed and ran over the slag. They ran around the narrow corner as quickly as they could. They came to  
a small ledge, and sat down. Tathawen leaned back and closed her eyes. Assuming the common speech again, and turned to Berion. "I know not your name, but I thank thee from the bottom of my heart. I shall never forget this. My name is Tathawen." Berion turned to her, and looked upon her fair Elven face. "I heard you singing. When I heard you cry, I felt I must help you, though I knew not where you were." He gazed into her star deep eyes and felt he could live forever in that moment. "My name is Berion". The Green Elves did not usually talk much to Men, but as was said before, Tathawen was a jewel among the Laiquendi. She took Berion's hand in hers. "Thank you, Berion." She got up and turned to go, but Berion rose behind her and gently clasped her arm. "Wait but a moment, fair Tathawen!" She turned round and looked at him inquisitively. "Ever since I heard your voice, I felt a desire to be with you, though I knew not what such a desire would entitle. Please do not leave me so  
lost. I ask thee to come back with me to Ered Wethrin." Tathawen looked upon him kindly. "Berion who saved me from certain death, although I am indebted to you, I am not bound to go thither with you," Berion lowered his eyes "But I shall. For although you are not an Elf, I see wisdom and honour within you, and those are qualities most dear to me". A smile spread upon Berion's face, and the clouds that had gathered in the sky parted, and sunlight shone down upon the two. "O Tathawen, my happiness is as eternal as your beauty, and it shall be long ere such fades from this world".  
  
So Tathawen and Berion climbed down less steep side of Ered Gorgoroth. Berion led her down through Nan Dungortheb, and westwards back to Ered Wethrin. Berion and Tathawen dwelt long in the vales of the southern slopes of Ered Wethrin, whilst many Men carried on Westward. And it twas not long before Tathawen bore a child, whom they named Cálënalda, Light of the Trees.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Laiquendi - The Green Elves; the Nandorin elves of Ossiriand.  
  
Anar - Quenya name of the sun.  
  
Ered Gorgoroth - `The Mountains of Terror', northward of Nan Dungortheb. Where Melkor was enmeshed by Ungoliant (Shelob in LOTR was the `last child of Ungoliant to trouble the unhappy world').  
  
Doriath - `Land of the Fence', referring to the Girdle of Melian; the kingdom of Thingol and Melian. 


End file.
